Shadows of Rebirth
by Chris Emrys
Summary: Trapped in fear for his family, until a plea for help feels like wake up call. Fear has no place as a tip is send, even as he's found out and send to the Morphogenic Engine. Because when you break the mind of Waylon Park, the real one surfaces.
1. Prologue

_Hello dears and welcome to my first Outlast story~!_

 _I have to say, while I love both games, the first one (with the dlc) is the one that ended up making me want to write. Well, I haven't done much horror before, so it was Eddie that first started my inspiration wheels, because it felt like I could work with him. I don't think there is any way to explain getting interested in Eddie, but I don't think I'm the only one either._

 _It's only once I started sorting out ideas that Waylon got my interest, especially with how I can work with him to work with Eddie. Then Miles, and the Walrider, also grabbed my interest, although they have a secondary role as this story focus on Waylon. So, about this story._

 _As I just said, it focus on Waylon, and there is a twist that is already hinted in this prologue (and well, in the summary). However, later, Eddies and Miles will have their place, and the story will be about the relationships they develop with Waylon._

 _Know that this story has supernatural elements. This will get explained eventually, so I can't explain now, or else I will spoil it. Although, I do believe the truth will surface rather soon, in fact by the time Waylon stumbles on Eddie, it might be likely that you already have a good enough idea._

 _Oh, and a last note, I based myself on the game storyline, but events won't happen the same way, and won't continue as in the game once Waylon meet Eddie. On Miles' side, I believe it mostly follows the game storyline for what is happening to him, but if anything is different, it will show in chapters._

 _ **IMPORTANT** : As you might guess from the title, this is only the first arc of Shadows of Rebirth. This story will be completed just as Waylon meets Eddie, and then I will post two stories. They are both direct sequels, but mutually exclusive (alternate version of each other). This is because the second arc is the romance arc, but I realized I couldn't choose between Eddie/Waylon and Miles/Waylon. And so, I didn't. Basically, think of Shadows of Rebirth working like visual novels: Survival arc is the common ground, and the two Romance arcs are routes. So have fun reading the romance arc you want, or both!_

 _But for now, enjoy the Survival arc, and this prologue!_

 _And as info, I have a blog on tumblr, chrisemrysblog dot tumblr dot com, which is a good place if you might want to talk to me or see what I can be up to!_

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _My name is Waylon Park._

Fingers drummed on the wooden table as the brown haired male took a slow sip of his coffee, thoughts wandering.

 _And I question daily why I work within hell on Earth._

Thinking of Murkoff, of his role in Mount Massive, Waylon huffed out of a laugh that had no joy. Then, sadness flashed into his green eyes.

 _Yes, my role here. How has it come to this?_

Software engineer within an asylum, if only it meant he helped the patients. But what luck did he have, to land in the one place which interests were the furthest from patients' health?

 _If I had known, I wouldn't have come here._

… _**Why** did I even come here, again?_

The question bothered him. A frown formed as he finished his coffee with an absent mind. A wife, two young sons, and a need for steady money. Then hearing about Murkoff 'charity' work at Mount Massive. Waylon had only needed to show his skills, he hadn't earn his degree for nothing after all, and he had been in.

Then, after some time of surface work, making him and his family used to weeks away from home, they took him to the real work. He had rebelled, of course he did, but they threatened his family.

 _I'm sorry, Lisa. It's my duty to protect you and our sons, right?_

… _Your face is getting blurry, have I been away for that long? What is the name of our sons, again?_

He felt terrible, disturbed, and he stood up, going to the bathroom. Fresh water on his face made him feel better, but his heart pounded.

 _The more I work here, and the more I feel like I'm losing myself. How long, before I have to close my heart, stop caring, or collapse from guilt?_

Waylon gritted his teeth, and the sudden call of his name from the speakers was almost welcomed. Then he realized why he was needed, and a lone tear fell before he wiped his cheek and took a deep breath.

 _Be strong. **They** need you._

… _But who?_

* * *

His fingers hovered over his keyboard, a slight tremble to them, but his superior called his name, threat underlying the questioning tone, and he started to type. He stared at his screen, swallowing as the struggles of a patient echoed, pain mixing with a twist of anger at the pleading of, "No!" and "Stop!"

He allowed his gaze to flicker, chest constricting as a man was being pushed. Eyes met for a second, and Waylon looked back at his screen, feeling exposed and shameful at the pained compassion he had known to show.

His whole body jolted, startled, when, after mounting cries of worry were lost on him with the tight throat he struggled against, the patient slammed his body against the solid glass in front of him. And his gaze jumped to the man's in his surprise, trapped and lulled by the desperation.

"You! You are different! You can help!"

Waylon hadn't realized he stood up, taking steps back, heart hammering as his superior grounded out his name. But his focus was on the man, the words repeated to him as the patient slammed his fists again, a please slipping too.

A guard gripped his arm, the patient was finally forced back, and his superior soothed down the situation. His body moved on its own, as if directed by his superior, to continue his work. But his mind, oh his mind…

More terrified cries, almost revealing of the deepest part of the patient, then the close-up of the man's face as they managed to get him inside the pod.

 _You can help_.

 _ **I can help**._

* * *

Waylon trembled as he wrote the mail, pausing to listen for anyone who might stumble on him. But no one was heard, and with a deep breath, he continued.

 _I should have done so long ago._

He read it a last time, then hit send with barely any hesitation. Lips twitch into a smile as he closed his laptop, breathing out.

 _That is what I should have done, **my real duty**. Lisa would prefer that, right?_

A sudden shiver ran down his spine, staring down in his laps with clenched fists.

… _Will she? Would she have cared? Isn't it logical?_

A growl, unnoticed by his own mind as sudden anger surfaced.

 _She has **nothing** to do with this!_

Waylon froze. His head hurt, his sight went blurry, he felt dizzy.

 _How can I say that for someone… I… love..?_

Something whispered at the back of his mind, widening hole in memories, who were his parents, what was his school life like, did he have girlfriends, how had he met Lisa, what was his life before Murkoff-

He stood up, chairs making a sharp sound, but he didn't care, walking hastily away.

* * *

 _I… am named… Waylon Park._

He hid in a restroom again, staring at his reflection. A thirty year old stared back, slightly tanned skin paler, chocolate brown hairs ending at the nape of his neck, all fluffy and often messy, bottle green eyes bright and expressive in its fearful confusion.

 _And I think… my mind is breaking…_

Lips curled at the corner, proud and content as a smirk showed, eyes brighter with joy mixed with fury.

 _But at least, I am bringing down these **assholes** with me._

"Pleased with your _work_ , Park?"

Waylon twisted around with wide eyes at the familiar voice, but no sooner that he caught sight of Jeremy Blaire, a fist connected with his cheek. His frame went down, backside hurting as he fell on his butt, one hand holding his cheek and tasting blood as he licked his lips.

Still, he dared to throw a glare back up.

"What a shame, it seems you have really gone crazy, haven't you? Thinking we wouldn't notice your little betrayal, and now looking like that?" A cruel smile twisted Blaire's lips. "But you can redeem yourself, right, Park?" Waylon paled. "Hear that? He just volunteered for the Morphogenic Engine!"

"Yes, yes he did."

Waylon gazed at the security guys, their sneers, and then a boot connected with his stomach. He fell down on his back, coughing, and another boot hit his head. Consciousness left him.

Yet, a last thought floated.

 _ **This will be your worst mistake, and you don't know it, do you?**_

 _ **You forgot, too.**_

* * *

The urge to punch Andrew's face was strong as the man dared to lick his face, and Waylon clenched his hand around the end of the armrest, wrists and ankles hurting as his body reacted, pushing against the restraints.

But there was nothing he could do, and soon, he faced the images that penetrated his mind, stimulated his brain in horrible ways and made tears fall down his face. Yet, somehow…

Somehow… His gaze stayed locked on the screen, watching, soaking it up…

Waiting.

Minutes passed, a few hours, not as much as he was out, but even as the images flashed, something…

It uncurled at the back of his mind, the single thought, the single word…

 _ **Walrider**_.

And for a second, he saw different flashes, a man's feeling of success, a black swarm which roar only Waylon heard, blood flying as bodies exploded and doors were broken open…

Alarms blared, bringing Waylon's mind back to his situation, and eyes finally flickering as doctors shouted about a break out. Very soon, painful screamed followed, patients yelled as they broke out their own chair, and Waylon realized he was free of restraints.

He rolled off, and fell on his hands and knees.

But he didn't care at the moment for the riot rising, the chaos breaking out, the knowledge of all kind of test subjects roaming free…

Only two thoughts crossed his mind.

 _Someone finally controlled Walrider, and they are too **mad** for it._

 _Waylon Park… is the name I chose. And now, my **awakening** has started._

 _To be continued…_


	2. Outbreaks

_Hello dears!_

 _Well, it seems we are in luck. The inspiration stayed strong, and I thought to myself, don't be silly and do write this story before anything else, since you're so inspired. I don't want to rush either, but if I find out a nice little pace, I'll be happy._

 _A little note for the Prologue: the scene with Eddie is like in the game, I simply focused on Waylon's emotions and only mentionned one or two sentences. The main intent in the Prologue was to show that unlike canon, it is after watching Eddie get put in the pod that Waylon decides to send the tip._

 _In other words, Eddie is the trigger factor for Waylon, and it is something that Waylon is grateful for, his reasons linked to the mystery/hints that continued to come in this chapter._

 _I also ended up realizing I will likely watch a gameplay and write chapters until Eddie's first meeting. I don't want to miss details, and I want to be able to decide what scene stay and what I might change. More than that though, it is because in these chapters until Eddie's meeting, I will be able to slip in Waylon's thoughts, show hints, add scenes; all in all the story is shaping up in my mind!_

 _This also makes a longer chapter than I'm used, but I rather love it. There's a rotation of thoughts and actions, which I think is a way of writing I will keep through chapters until meeting Eddie._

 _But to chapter 1 now, which title is a wink not only to the riot, but the break in Waylon's mind that he's already feeling is not negative, because it's opening the door to the truth about him._

 _Enjoy, and do let me know what you think, and what guess you might have~!_

 _ **Warning** : No explicit description, but mention of blood, mention of death (not described)._

* * *

 **Shadow of Rebirth**

 _Chapter 1: Outbreaks_

Deep breathes were lost in the sound of alarms blarring as doctors and security alike had deserted the rooms. Chaos could be heard outside of the three rooms hall, but to Waylon, it felt like background noises.

On his hands and knees, blinking as the images from the Engine still hurt his brain, a storm of thoughts assaulted him. It made a small, pained whine escape his lips; yet he endured. The Engine… It hurt so much, but somehow, _something_ cleared. His heart beat wildly as the first few breaks in his memories, little holes that had bothered him more and more through the days working, widened and snapped. His body shook as one certainty hit him, frightening yet a relief.

Fake. All fake. His memories of his life before Mount Massive were not true.

Waylon could recall clearly anything that had happened since he got the level 3 clearance. Finding out what exactly his skills would be used for, arguing, backing down at the threat against his supposed family. Guilt and shame each days he worked to keep functionning the very machines that tortured the patients. But also, little details leaving him, and above all, the scary realization that if he tried to think about the life he used to have, a widening black hole slowly formed.

He had ignored it, distracting his mind, but it nagged at him, and then… Then this one patient had been too much. Waylon couldn't tell why it was this one, maybe it was how he had ran up to the glass, how their eyes had locked and shared emotions without meaning to. Maybe Waylon's mind had already floated toward the idea, of sending a tip, and that one man had triggered his courage to do so.

And maybe it was all of this, but also, that he had already started to work the puzzle out. Because eveything before he started to work with the Engine was blurry. Working with less clearance was rather clear, but anything about the few times he went home… It was now shattering. Anything that should have been before, almost gone by now, only facts staying in his mind, and no memories.

It felt more like a file learned by heart than his life. And at the same time… Through the darkness, glimpses that felt so much truer, making his heart lurch to grasp them.

The patient to his right hit the glass, and Waylon snapped his head to look at him. He frowned in confusion, yet hearing something akin to a breeze, and somewhere in his mind, he felt like he heard mad roars. And then, a shadowy figure formed, floating behind the other patient.

Waylon ended on his butt, shuffling backward, frightened by the sudden appearance and how it grabbed the patient, pulling him away from the glass separating the two room. The being lifted the patient, it looked like it started to shake him, and then the lights went out.

But Waylon could still hear the terrified cries.

It made something in his brain react, and when images flickered in his sight, he realized it was the results of his exposition to the Engine. He let out pained gasps, rolling on his side, breathing harshly, and forcing his body upward. A shiver went down his spine at ripping sounds came, and he felt the need to see into the darkness, a part of him unhappy, _why aren't you welcoming?_

Even as he reached for the camcorder, Waylon was hit by one thought. He didn't mind the darkness surrounding him. It felt safe, warm. But he didn't like that he couldn't see, and rather disturbingly, it was as if he had expected he should be able to see.

More cries echoed, followed by another ripping sound; and without hesitation Waylon switched on the night vision. A shudder ran down his spine as he noticed the blood on the glass, not quite hiding the gore in the two other rooms. He lowered his gaze, and his cam, biting his lips. Poor things, criminals maybe, but mentally ill, and after what they already experienced…

And this… It had been what the Engine was for, hadn't it? Project Walrider, now Waylon remembered Andrew leaving because they spoke of lateral ascension. But what he had just seen… It was out of control. Enraged, without care for who it hurt.

He should be frightened, and he was, but there was sadness in his heart, and then, a flicker of anger. Not at this… being? Walrider? But at the one whose brain connected with, madness and fury infecting the Walrider. He wasn't sure what exactly it was, as he only took care of the side that was force trauma followed by dream therapy, as far as he understood between what he saw and what he had to make work.

Waylon startled as a voice spoke to him, and he lifted his cam still in night vision, feeling himself blanch a bit as a patient walked to stand in front of the door to the room he had been trapped in, speaking of opening him up. It made Waylon think of how he had heard some call certain patients. Variants.

He watched the Variant continue to walk, and blinked as the door was opened. "You wait right here," the other had said.

Of course Waylon wouldn't listen. His steps were rather quiet as he moved to the open door, taking one glance at the other before bolting for the metal door. For now, he needed to find a place to hide, even if it was for a small while. Process all that had happened, and sort through his thoughts.

But first, he closed to door behind him, avoiding a slam as he didn't want to risk other Variants hearing him. Or security, although it looked like the staff had left. He barely paid attention the bathroom, and went forward.

He froze as he spotted some Variants holding down a staff member. And it made him realize that if this had happened hours ago, when he was still in the staff, he would have been a target. Although, with how the one that had ended up freeing him had spoken, he knew he was still in danger. Yes, the Variants were likely to attack first the ones that had hurt them so much, but this was a place now full of mentally ill criminals. Some might not be hostile, especially after undergoing the Engine, but most…

 _I'm going to have to fight for my survival, aren't I?_ But he didn't feel right fighting with them all, disregarding the lack of weapons, a part of him understood why they were all so angry. But if they could stay far away from him, that would be great. Yet, he guessed he would need to hide, and run, a lot.

Starting now. But before he could crounch lower, he realized one of the Variant had noticed him. Still, seeing no reaction, Waylon moved forward, prefering not to hide in case that triggered a want to hunt him down. He kept the cam half turned toward the group, wincing as the doctor was killed, and then he stopped as one called out to him.

He swallowed, trying to decide if the glass separating them was solid enough. The other commanded that he came, that there was no observers, and he glanced at where the entrance was located. It looked to be in the hallway that came at the corner, and he realized he would likely need to pass by their door if he wanted to continue. Would he be able to rush past?

Waylon felt all the eyes on him as he continued, heart beat faster as he thought on how they really were waiting for him. He noticed the next hall was lit, so he switched off the night vision, and then jumped backward, feeling the wall at his back as a patient rushed from a corner at the opposite side (or had it been a door, he couldn't say) and hid in a room. The brunet was confused at first, until a dark mist started to form.

The Walrider appeared fully, floating straight for Waylon.

And Waylon's first instinct ended up to lower the cam. He stared with wide eyes at the approaching being, wondering once more what it could be, and then…

Then he felt a surge of sadness, gaze reflecting pain. The being slowed down.

Without control, words left Waylon's mouth. "What do you think you are doing?"

For a second, the Walrider stopped, and Waylon almost wanted to say he felt conflict surfacing. And then it shrieked, lurching forward. Waylon managed to throw himself down, rolling forward, Engine images flashing again as he panicked as much as he questionned his own words. He glanced backward.

The Walrider was gone.

Waylon stood up, body leaning against the wall. His mind hurt all over again, memories flickering, as if sorting through them. And the more it went backward, the more of a blurry mess it became; there was something he was trying to find, but all he got was a sudden compassion for the being he had just seen.

 _No, not quite a being, not yet conscious, screaming under the control of a mad mind._

Waylon shook his head, straightened and took into his surroundings. Two metal doors on the side of the hallway, a glass one at the end, and a hole in the glass wall on the other side that likely lead to the room with the Variants and the dead doctor.

 _I have to move. I can't… It's too much, so I'll just focus on moving._

Still, he checked the first door. He closed it soon after he saw all the blood inside, it might have been one place to hide for a bit, but he realized… The Variants were waiting, there was no lock, and he doubted they would wait much longer.

The second door rattled, the one that had gone through it had managed to jar it. Waylon kept to the wall at the right as he neared the hole in the left, taking a glance out the glass door. It didn't open, and it didn't surprise him, it must have been a security protocol. Plus, with the sight of a security guard beating down one of the patients, Waylon felt like this would have been a bad direction to take.

Waylon went through the hole, lifting his cam again, feeling a little bit of reassurance as he could switch in night mode and see faster if he needed. He noticed a block on one door, and with a deep breath, he opened the other.

As expected, the Variants were inside. He froze a few steps in, taking into how they all stood, and then staring at the one who spoke. Trying very hard not to look at the dead body, while his hand tightened around his cam, willing himself to breath deeply to keep from shuddering too much. Yet, when the first stab was given, blood splashing, he still jumped.

Waylon dutifully listened, glad that the cam hid his face, because he knew his eyes were wide and his gaze would betray his fear. He didn't want to take that knife, and he didn't want to get attacked. He coudn't speak, letting the man speak, heart beating wilder and wilder as he worried about that talk of, "Think you're different."

He felt how his jaws tembled, teeth hitting each other, as if he was cold. Then again, watching the man stab again and again made Waylon feel cold. For a second, he felt like crying, the words, "There are no observers," hurting for reasons that were not the current situation.

Then, like a small blessing, the man told him to go. And so, without words, Waylon went after one Variant that moved, allowing a passage to another door. With one last glance, he passed the door, closing it behind him, just in case… The other did change his mind.

He froze, for what felt like the hundreds time in a short time, as he noticed a patient on a chair. But he had his head down, and Waylon hoped that it would be fine. Still, he walked slowly, keeping his cam turned toward the other, night vision on to see better.

Waylon couldn't react fast enough when the other stood up, throwing him into the wall. His back hurt but he managed to ducke a fist before he took off into a run. No time to be delicate, he slammed open the only door he saw, glad his night vision was still on. His heart almost went out his chest as there was another patient, but he was too occupied beating someone else, and Waylon circled him wildly, glad the next door was wide open.

He could hear the first patient still chasing, after all.

Then Waylon saw the next door was blocked. He whirled around, switching the night vision off as it was lit well enough, looking all around in fear. He felt like his heart could have given out when he spotted the open vent; and with no hesiation he jumped on a table and climbed into the vent.

Waylon took a few crounching steps, then stopped, listening. He tried to keep his breathing in check, hearing the patient steps; and then, they grew distant. He had stopped the chase, or forgotten, or thought Waylon had backtracked.

Waylon let out a brief of relief, and allowed himself to sit as best as he could.

He needed rest, even if only a few minutes.

 _To be continued..._


	3. Start of a plan

_Hello dears!_

 _So first, you might have noticed a change in title and that the Waylon/Eddie pairing is not marked anymore. This is because I figured out how I really wanted to go, and well, that I shipped Miles/Waylon too._

 _I've adjusted previous AN to add these infos, but basically, this story is the Survival arc of Shadows of Rebirth. As the title suggest, it focus on Waylon's struggle to survive (there might still be little shows of what Miles is up to). When we will reach the point where Waylon meets Eddie, the Survival arc will be completed, and I will post two stories that are direct sequels. However, these two stories will tell two different, alternates stories: one is the Romance arc with Eddie, and one with Romance arc with Miles. Both stories will remain similar, but will likely divert more and more, depending who Waylon falls for (note: the one not romanced will still have a strong platonic relationship with Waylon; and I still think Miles and Eddie will be rivals with tentative truce)._

 _I hope this make sense, I'll happily reply to questions if something still unclear; and above all I hope it will be clear while reading! I kind of want to joke this is like these date games, with a main story (Survival arc) that's the same for every romance choice, and then depending on who you want to romance, you have different routes (Romance arcs)._

 _On this chapter, now. I think it was noticeable in the previous one, but with how I'm writing this, there might not be much scene changes. It's more logical at this point to have an uninterrupted flow, although I make sure to not have chapters too long. I wouldn't want each chapter to feel too long after all!_

 _There's a bit more thoughts in this chapters, trying to clue you all in what is going on with Waylon; and please note, because of the conflict in his mind (fake memories, real ones trying to surface), his personality is adjusting. I'm not saying he will change drastically, but there will be shifts._

 _ **Warnings** : Blood, mention of dead bodies, violence, death. Really, that should be warnings for all of the story, so I might not put these again, and only put as warnings anything "special"._

* * *

 **Shadows of Rebirth: Survival arc**

 _Chapter 2: Start of a plan_

The vent was a tight fit, but Waylon was not that tall for a man, and so he decided to rest in the little corner. He glanced at the long way forward he could take, but first, he wanted to let his nerves calm down. Between the mess in his mind and the adrenalin surge the chase had given him, without forgetting the horrors he had already witnessed in such a short time, Waylon felt best to have a break while he could.

His back rested on the metal, facing the way he intended to go later, so he could see both sides, his right side only having a closed vent door. His legs curled close to his chest, he put down his cam and wrapped his arms around his legs.

What should he do?

It was tempting to stay where he was, it was a safer place, but he couldn't sit here forever. If Murkoff managed to get the situation back under control, they would likely check all places, and he shivered at the idea of facing again the Engine. But at the same time, Waylon had known, hearing and reading little things, that Variants were stronger. Their mind was damaged, but it made them even more dangerous. There was no way to guess how they would act, or even if they would follow the same pattern. And the Walrider…

Waylon felt a pang of sadness again. He should be afraid, that this dark ghostly being was loose and killing all it encountered, but it felt… quieter, compared to the threat everyone else proved to be.

No matter how he looked at it, Waylon knew his best bet would be to find a way out. He couldn't just stay here, although he would have to be careful. At least, he was glad to know he was rather sane, not having been exposed long enough to damage him badly. It would allow him to plan as he progressed, especially to avoid too many encounters. And he had the advantages of knowing some of the layouts as a previous staff member. Not that he was proud, and he still felt so guilty of how long he had been a part of Murkoff.

Then again, with how the fake memories were breaking, Waylon felt that there might be an explanation, even if for now questions were all he had. He had grown to realize only memories within the ground of Mount Massive felt clear and had yet to break; while anything that had been supposed to be his few times away was growing fainter and fainter.

Nothing remained of before working for Murkoff, by now. And trying to remember how he got here hurt his mind too much.

Voices filtered to Waylon, and he took his cam, he could tell it came from close. He heard some words about Murk Tactical clean up, and decided to quietly shuffle until he could glance down. Two securities were talking, and it made his stomach twisted, forcing his breath to remain calm. He listened to them talk, perking up as they talked of the radio.

He doubted they would use it, and soon one confirmed it. It made Waylon clench his jaws, hearing one threaten the other, but he didn't even feel surprised. Of course Murkoff wouldn't want an outside force to see what was going on inside. Too much questions.

The thought made another hit him. Miles Upshur. The freelance journalist he had contacted. When he had decided to bring down Murkoff, he had known he couldn't just walk out and go to the police. He had borrowed a laptop, took measures before checking for who to send mail to. Logic would have been to send a mail to as many journalists as possible, but when he had seen Miles' contact, the reports written, Waylon had locked on the man, following instincts he had always trusted. _This_ _is_ _the person you need to come_ , his instinct had seemed to say.

But, if Miles had jumped on the tip, he would be in danger. And Waylon felt rather certain that the man, who had shown to take cases few would dare take, would be happy to dig out dirt on Murkoff. Waylon knew hours had passed since them, but unless the man had been close by, surely he hadn't gotten here before the riot, right?

But if he arrived now, before the situation got under control-or worsened-then… Miles would be in danger. And it would be his fault.

 _I have to get to the radio as fast as I can. This place has to stabilize; before he's in danger._ Waylon bit his lips. _I just hope he isn't here already, that he didn't get in._

Otherwise… He shook his head. He couldn't linger on this subject for long, not when he needed to act. He could only follow his plan, and hope that Miles Upshur will remain free of harm.

With that in mind, Waylon crawled until the end of the vent, and paused as he noticed a variant sitting against a wall. He felt a pang of compassion, the position was similar to how he had been a minute ago, although when he dropped down from the vent, Waylon kept a careful eye on the other. He couldn't know which would be hostile. But this one didn't move, so the brunet looked around through the night vision of the camcorder.

Waylon spotted a door, although obstructed. It didn't look too hard to push though, which he decided to test right away. A little heavy, but not enough to remain unmoving. A part of him noticed it became easier after the first push, as if he had learned the amount of strength needed, but he stored that for later. He didn't want to think too much about oddities, not yet. And well, the variant walked in his line of sight, standing in front of him and staring as he just finished pushing the obstacle away from the door.

Waylon took a step back, heart lurching, but a few seconds of being frozen proved that the variant still lacked interest in attacking. So, with slow steps as to not take a risk of spooking the other, Waylon opened the door and left. He almost closed it behind him, but part of him wondered if the variant would be aware enough to open it again, and he… didn't want to trap the other. Still, once out, he took faster steps, but didn't run.

The last thing he needed was to move too fast and not notice a threat.

The room was a mess, things upturned, but only one door could be taken. Well, for now, he couldn't really get lost, right? But he would have to make sure he was on the right track, if he wanted to reach the radio tower.

He froze when a dark mist passed, not a clear shape, but Waylon noticed it anyway. But he heard no sounds, so he progressed more, peeking out and sighing in relief as the corridor was empty. Well, there was a patient knocked out cold, and if his memory didn't trick him, that was the one he saw a security guy beat, just before entering the room with the Variants murdering a doctor. He wanted to check, as it would help the mental map in his head, and indeed, he spotted the hole in the wall.

Which meant he should go in the direction he had just seen the mist go. And he felt a conflicting mix of _please be gone_ and _I want to see it_. The previous encounter still weighed on his mind, but a flash of pain hit him even as he walked forward, Engine images flashing. He associated the pain with the mess in his memories that sorting would wait, but the images, he realized soon it was a reaction to the scent of gore and sight of blood that waited on the path to take.

He hadn't heard anything, so maybe it hadn't been done just now, but it appeared someone, or something, had tore through security guards. He didn't want to look for long, free hand covering his mouth and nose, but Waylon knew it was similar to what he had seen in the room where he had been subjected to the Engine, when they had gotten free.

That was the work of the Walrider. Waylon felt his jaws clench, his own fingers dinging into his cheek in **anger**. It had attacked patients, it attacked staff, which meant it made no difference. Whoever controlled it, _they are undeserving_.

Waylon blinked. What had he just thought? He shook his head, but this time, his mind didn't shy from memories. And he recalled, watching patients as he had to work on the system, other moments were he had felt like this. They felt clearer, now that thoughts of his supposed family were leaving.

The knowledge of what happened had always made him angry, and guilty, but now he recalled… It wasn't just the patients, it was… It was the Walrider. Doctors messing with ill brains and hoping to get one to control it. But **why?** Why had he felt like this?

The reply had not yet appeared, however, he had a feeling… that sooner or later, he would know. For now, the radio was his priority. That, or simply finding a way out. A way elsewhere?

Waylon felt distressed as the jumbled thoughts, so he forced himself to walk again, focusing on the present. He wondered if Murkoff had started locking the place for the Tactical force later, because again, one door was locked, sign they had tried to prevent Variants from following after the staff. Still, a security room was open, likely because the security staff had been killed before hiding in it. He frowned as he noticed someone in the decontamination area. He realized he had seen the locked door for this path, so it seemed he was in luck to have found the control room for it still open.

Especially as the man talked to him rather clearly. Waylon felt wary as the man said he was a doctor, but as the tech approached, the other noticed the asylum clothes, and admitted to be a patient. Waylon let his wary gaze travel all around the patient's body, but when he met frightened eyes that also plead, finger pointing the the button, Waylon couldn't help a small smile.

Maybe it was a trick, but he preferred to go with the assumption it wasn't, that this was one of the less hostile patient simply wanting to be out from the hellhole this place was becoming. Someone who wanted to survive. So, with a little nod, he pushed the button. He had to pass by the decontamination area after all, but it was a way to be on good term with the patient.

Another patient was there when the door unlocked, making green eyes widen. Before the disguised patient could do more than extend a placating hand, the other lunged at him, only seeing the doctor uniform.

"No!" Waylon cried out. "He's a disguised patient, stop!"

But the attacker paid not attention, yelling in anger about lying doctors. Waylon gasped as it was already too late, the first hit had already done damages, and he saw that the patient was dead by the time his head had hit the glass again. Waylon's frame shook as he was frozen, watching the enraged man still hit the dead patient against the glass, making blood appear. His legs felt weaker, he had to put his free hand on the table in front of him to stay upright, staring right at the attacker as he dropped the dead patient. Then he left after a glance at Waylon.

 _Poor thing, only wanted to not stay trapped_. He felt like he should be more horrified, but he had already accepted that death would be all around him. He felt sad that the patient had been killed out of misunderstanding, but to Waylon this was the second time he saw the results of all the suffering Murkoff had put the patients in.

It hadn't been about killing, it had been about revenge on someone seen as part of the system that hurt them. Something Waylon, in the depth of his mind, seemed to understand. Past the guilt, there was anger, a knowledge he had worked under the assumption Murkoff would hurt his family otherwise, only to realize now that he never had one.

And it made him wonder: had Murkoff known? Had they been manipulating him? But the one question he felt worried to discover the answer: had he really been a staff member, before his memories were altered?

 _To be continued..._


	4. Onward into the menu

_Hello dears!_

 _I've had this chapter ready for days, but I've been struggling with the little matter of ships in this story. I started it with the intents to have Eddie/Waylon, but very soon after the first chapter, I fell in love with Miles/Waylon. The story had already intents to have Miles as a best friend, but I realized that in the end, both Eddie and Miles could be great platonic friends to Waylon, or great romantic partners (the way I will write them). Problem became that I didn't want to choose which romantic ship to make happen, and I didn't feel any of them can work out a poly ship._

 _So here are the options I've think of: keep this story with platonic ships (but I still believe there will be romantic interest hinted) and have side stories showing how each ship could have happened, or do work out a poly ship. And to be honest, I have the strong feeling I need to simply continue writing and see how the characters interact._

 _That's why nothing is definite yet about the ship (although the possibility remains either a platonic only main story, or a polyship), and I have put up a poll to see what you the readers would prefer. Please do vote, even if you don't mind either choice (I put up the option, in fact, to say you don't mind). The poll will stay open at least until Waylon meets Eddie, and likely until Miles is met._

 _On another note, this story is the main story for Shadows of Rebirth (that I do consider a story), and we are currently in the Survival arc. I won't make a new story when the arc change; and I already know the next arc will be the Friendship one. There might be a third arc, something like Aftermath, about how the situation resolve. I do have intentions to write in Outlast 2 timeline, although right now I am not sure if it will be another arc, or a sequel story. We still are far from it, so there's time to figure that put!_

 _Now, in this chapter: four times there is a similar hint to Waylon's secret! I think it might be obvious if you look closely, because there is a theme~_

 _ **Warning** : Frank Manera appears now, so mentions of cannibalism, blood, and non described gore.  
Also: We discover that, when stressed, Waylon is rather sarcastic internally._

* * *

 **Shadows of Rebirth**

 **Survival arc**

 _Chapter 3: Onward into the menu_

Waylon felt as if his heart was beating in his throat, he felt aware of each thump while he barely paid attention to the glass in front of him, even if his gaze seemed locked on the blood. If anyone looked into his eyes right now, they would see his mind was far away. All because a single question had come to his mind.

Had he been a staff member, before his memories got altered?

Because with what Murkoff had been doing to the patients… Yet, something felt wrong still, as if the idea of him having been a patient didn't felt right. But then, how had come to be here? Why had his memories been blocked, a false past put there instead? And in truth, it hadn't feel as if other staff members had known anything. Especially not people like Jeremy Blaire, his superior and a high up in the chain of command.

It had been as if they, too, believed the lie that was Waylon Park.

His stomach clenched, a flash of fury at thinking of the lies his memories had been, forcing him to act in ways he was not sure he would have done otherwise. Indeed, even without his true memories, even as who his false memories made him to be… If he had known not to have a family, he would have acted sooner. He held no care for his own safety, not when he witnessed what happened to the patients here. He had only stayed quiet because he feared for his supposed wife and children.

He heard a low growl, and it took a few seconds for Waylon to realize he was the one making this sound. He blinked, coming back to his senses, although in truth no more than a minute had passed. A muscle twitched in his jaws, eyes blazing with determination, anger boiling inside him.

 _I have to move for now, get to the radio, do something to have this place fall off Murkoff's control. Then I will sort through this._

Waylon turned away from the glass, camcorder in hand and walking in a calm manner that would seem out of place within the mess the place had become. There was nobody though, when he left the security room; or at least until a familiar, breeze sound came. And just like before, there was barely any fear, instead his heart missed a beat in what felt like happiness.

That was something else to keep in mind for later, how he felt toward the Walrider. For now, Waylon favoured making a break for the decontamination room he had just opened. Part of him knew the Walrider was a danger for now, even if his heart broke at the thought.

Gratefully, it appeared the Walrider could not pass because of the gas, not pursuing Waylon once the man went inside the special room. Or maybe… Maybe it, too, didn't want to be at odd with Waylon. Yet, in the glimpse he caught before the metal door closed, it felt as if… conflict flashed into the Walrider again.

As he waited for the other doors to open, to continue his path, Waylon mused again on how someone controlled this dark mist-like being. Someone full of anger and murderous intents. Someone Waylon felt like he had glimpsed at, back when the Walrider hesitated to attack him, the first time they crossed path. Waylon realized now, that the conflict he had seen was because it didn't want to attack, and then the lunge, as if forced…

The Walrider seemed aware of the strange feeling of connection with Waylon, but when Waylon thought back of what he could consider as its gaze, it felt as if it wasn't yet conscious. As if it was at the mercy of the mind that controlled it.

That made white hot anger flash again, a feeling that had become almost constant by now. But the doors opened, and Waylon forced this feeling back for now.

At least, there wasn't anyone, or at least anyone alive. He swallowed and looked away from the bodies, frowning as he realized the few paths he could have taken were all blocked, one way or another. He scratched behind his neck as he slowly walked around, trying to see if there was a path to take. He didn't fancy ending up stuck around here, after all.

Something flickered at the corner of his eyes, and Waylon looked out of instinct. A frown of confusion remained as there were only shadows, but then, he noticed he could climb up some crates. He moved there, and once he got up, he realized there was a small way he could crouch and crawl to. He put the night vision back on, progressing slowly, and soon there was a small opening he could jump down from, ending up on the other side of the broken sliding door he had seen before.

 _Onward, then._

More bodies could be found as he progressed, but at least, it seemed variants and staff alike had moved too. The scent of blood was heavy, but by then, Waylon felt used to it. It almost made him uneasy, realizing he was handling all this rather… well. He would have thought the bodies, the gore and the blood would made him sick. That he would be horrified.

But he only felt… sad, for those that can still be called innocents. Those too afraid to act, and the patients that would be the victims of the variants. And he felt dark contentment, at knowing those that had not cared for the wrongs done were among the bodies he passed.

Still, his eyes never stayed too long on anything he passed, unwilling to allow his mind to picture himself ending like this. With the realization something had been done to his memories, a violation of his mind, and how he still felt pain from times to times because of the Engine; Waylon just wanted… to be safe.

But he knew that his surroundings weren't secure, and that fuelled his steps, despite the stress at what he might encounter.

Waylon froze in the entrance to one of the facility's kitchen. It wasn't quite the organs on the sink, it was a sudden suffocating sensation, mind screaming about danger. Then he realized he heard noises; and his stomach finally twisted as if sick.

Munching noises. A frame bending over then rising, blood on its lips. Waylon refused to finish processing what this all meant, instead crouching down to remain out of sight and move in a quiet manner.

He froze again at the bodies hanging, as if they were pieces of meat. He swallowed with difficulty, and knew he needed a few seconds to calm himself. Never mind he was under the hanging bodies, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

So this would be his first, real encounter with danger, wouldn't it? A cannibal.

Tears stung at his eyes, throat tighter. He had barely scratched the surface of who he really was. He couldn't die now, he didn't want to die. And certainly not by being eaten.

A soothing warmth seemed to wrap around him, and Waylon snapped his eyes open. There was nothing though, he was alone in the relative darkness of the little, long room. Still, he was grateful for how his nerves settled; and he half crawled forward. He only stood up once he was in the next room, although he scrunched up his nose at the sight of a kettle with, oh god, with human parts inside.

 _I'm not going to be the fucking dessert._

Waylon got tempted to take a frying pan, just in case, but with the camcorder in one hand, he needed to keep the other free. And he needed the cam, he had been recording as much as possible because, this was one hell of an occasion to keep evidences of the consequences from Murkoff's experiments.

But damn his luck, only one door could open, and Waylon could see he would have to pass in front of the cannibal. Oh, there were glass windows, but that wouldn't stop the-very naked-man. A bit hysterically, Waylon wondered if the other would be like most predators, not interested in another prey when they had just eaten.

 _Cool your mind, Park. And breath._

He didn't have much choice, so with a deep breath, he opened the door and walked inside the dining room, as if he had a place there. He didn't glance at the cannibal, instead feeling quite glad the upturned tables forced him to take the long way, almost following the walls. He tried very hard to ignore the sound of a buzzsaw, but he had caught the splatter of blood as he had entered; and somehow he found comfort in the darkness of the room. He could still see enough to advance, and so, he didn't feel a need for the night vision.

… Fuck his luck. He still had to pass in front of the cannibal, and the glass panel had been broken. It gave him such a nice view of the body in front of the other, head in the microwave. And, oh god, now the cannibal was starring at him. Well, maybe it had to do with the camera he was holding, because hey, that was the kind of mess that would work great as proof against Murkoff.

What Waylon didn't expect, as the cannibal remained calm in observing Waylon's approach, was for the head in the microwave to explode. Blood splattered on the remaining glass panel-and all over Waylon. He jumped backward, flinching harshly as a gasp left his lips. Lights flickered, and one shut down. Waylon could only stare, even as the man told him to not watch, that he loved him.

 _That's not how you fucking court, man._

Waylon was still frozen, even if his mind was telling him he should really follow the command and leave the man alone; and well, when he started to eat again, that did the trick. Waylon walked away, fast. He blessed the door in his mind, closing it behind him, so he could hear if he was being followed.

At least, he soon discovered a bathroom with lots of lockers. That would work well as a hiding room. He just hoped he wouldn't have to use it soon-or ever. He didn't linger, and soon, there was one of the metal door that lead to stairs.

 _Oh for fuck's sake…_

A dead guy had been handcuffed to it, also acting as a lock.

Waylon let his forehead rest on the metal, letting out a small groan. He had a vague knowledge of the overall facility, and this was the path he should take. He needed to find the keys of the handcuffs.

And hopefully, before he became a prey.

 _To be continued..._


End file.
